Glimpses
by piperholmes
Summary: "She couldn't ignore it any more. The tightness in her belly and the shooting pain in her back had reached the point where Sybil knew it was time." Ten drabbles surrounding the night Sybil gives birth. Written before 3X05 aired and NOT CANON COMPLIANT. This one ends well folks.


**Glimpses**

**By piperholmes**

**A/N: I started posting these drabbles on Tumblr and thought I would just post them as one big story here. I never imagined they'd allow Tom in for the labor and birth but if rumors are to be believed he's going to be there so I eagerly began imagining what that would be like. As always, unbeta'd. Enjoy!**

* * *

Part 1: The Smile

She couldn't ignore it any more. The tightness in her belly and the shooting pain in her back had reached the point where Sybil knew it was time. She glanced around the dinner table, slowly taking a breath in and letting it out as quietly as possible. She had only been picking at her food, feeling out of sorts and a bit nauseated, but the conversation around the table had prevented anyone from noticing. Even her normally attentive husband seemed lost in his own world as he chewed his bite of food.

Lost seemed the best description for him these days. A pain moved through her body that had nothing to do with the impending arrival of her child. So much was unclear right now, uncertain, and he hated it, she hated it. They had so little good news these days. Her heart sped up, and with a soft smile she gently called his name, doing her best to not attract too much attention.

His gaze snapped to her, his face expectant.

Her smile grew. Her hand moved to stroke her ridiculously large belly as she gave him a knowing look.

He stared back at her, confusion marring his handsome face.

One of her eyebrows raised pointedly.

Tom's own brow furrowed, then cleared, then raised. "Really?" he squeaked out, suddenly, stopping conversation.

Sybil blushed as all eyes followed his, zeroing in on her. Yet her eyes did not leave his as she gave a small nod.

He stood, shoving his chair back loudly. His face seemed a prism of emotion, then finally…he smiled.

* * *

Part 2: The Hands

Tom wrapped her arm around his, holding her tightly as they slowly moved up the grand stairs. Sybil's mother tuttered about, Isobel began barking orders, while Mary and Edith sort of flittered around them in excitement, yet the young couple maintained a steady pace.

Nearly to the top he felt her hand squeeze and he stopped, feeling the tension bow her body forward. He could hear her taking deep breaths, then a slight whimper, but before he could respond she was slowly righting herself, her grip relaxing.

"That one was a bit stronger," she offered by way of explanation, then simply began again moving forward carefully.

Unsure how to respond, he merely followed her lead, allowed her weight to rest against his side as they took each step together.

Finally their journey came to an end as they entered their room, finding Anna and one of the house maids preparing the bed while the other women began sorting through Sybil's clothes looking for the most appropriate nightdress.

Isobel turned to them with a bright, confident smile. "Ah, Tom," she beamed, "just settle her on the chair there and we'll get her ready. Would you like a moment alone before you go?"

Tom looked up from where he had helped Sybil lower to the edge of the seat, a seemingly simply task that appeared quite laborious with her added girth, and frowned. "Go? Where'm I goin'?"

Some of the frantic movement slowed.

"Why back downstairs of course," Isobel pointed out. "Or I suppose you could go wherever you fancy, just somewhere other than here."

Tom glanced around the room, a room full of women from varying social classes and backgrounds with equally perplexed looks on their faces. Cora moved first, a gracious, indulgent smile on her face. "Don't worry Tom, she's in good hands."

"I understand Lady Grantham, but I don't think—"

"I know you're worried," his mother-in-law interrupted thoughtfully, reaching hesitantly, tentatively to rest her hand against his arm, and only for a moment. "But these things can get quite…indelicate. You wouldn't want to get in the way."

Branson couldn't help the slight narrowing of his eyes, a look Sybil would well recognized as him gearing up for a fight but which was lost on her mother. Pressing his lips together he turned to the one woman in the room who counted.

She was staring up at him, her own eyes wide and uncertain.

"Sybil?"

Her name on his lips, so perfect in her ears, already slowing her anxious heart.

Without delay she reached up, her hand gliding into his, clutching, their bridge formed.

The decision was made.

* * *

Part 3: The Wide Eyes

"He's staying?" Lord Grantham bit sharply, as he stared at his wife in shock.

Lady Grantham gave a tentative nod.

"Good heavens," the Dowager's voice shrill cry carried around the drawing room, her own eyes wide with shock. "What could he be thinking?"

"Actually Lady Grantham," Dr. Clarkson's round tones and calm voice interjected, "it's not quite as uncommon among the working class for the father to stay and even help."

"We are not talking about a working class woman," Lord Grantham snapped, insulted. "We are talking about my daughter."

"Sybil is a lady," the Dowager added. "No man should ever witness a lady _contraire aux bonnes mœurs_. It's indecent."

The doctor raised a white bushy eyebrow.

"Your profession excluded, of course," the Dowager amended graciously.

Cora Crawley sighed, "Well the fact of the matter is he's staying and she wants him to, so no amount of arguing is having any effect. Besides which, cousin Isobel has quite warmed to the idea and is championing them on."

Three pairs of eyes rolled heavenward.

"I should get upstairs and check on Lady Sybil," Dr. Clarkson remarked, moving away from them.

Lord Grantham and his mother continued their grumblings.

The American mother kept her face stoic, playing the role, though deep inside she felt a warmth for her Irish son-in-law. Remembering her own experiences as she labored to bring a child in this world, how her hand reached for his only to find none, how her eyes had searched for his face, only to be left wanting.

She could clearly see the wide eyes of her youngest; scared and ill prepared, yet so focused on his, even sharing a few shy smiles and winks, easing a bit of the pain.

Perhaps it wasn't the done thing for a lady, but who gives a damn?

* * *

Part 4: The Laughter

Sybil was beginning to lose her patience.

If one more person told her what she should be doing, saying, thinking, or feeling she was going to scream.

"You need to stay in bed."

"You need to lie down."

"You need to stay calm."

"Don't over tax yourself."

"Drink this."

"I do suggest you consider allowing me to put you to sleep," this last one recommended by Dr. Clarkson…again.

Sybil scowled at him. "No, thank you Dr. Clarkson," she breathed out firmly.

The pains were coming more frequently now, intensifying. The pain in her back was reaching a level of near unbearable. Everyone needed to just leave her alone.

A squeeze to her hand reminded her of her husband's presence. He gave her a smile, one that Sybil wasn't quite up to returning, but she did squeeze back.

"Would you like to lie back?" her mother asked, which some how sounded more like a suggestion then a question.

Lying down made the pain in her back worse. How many times did she have to say it?

A rebuke for her mother was on the tip of her tongue, when her husband's lilted voice carried over her.

"I think she's alright, Lady Grantham. She'll tell us if she needs to lie down."

She could kiss him.

"A woman cannot always be trusted to know what's best when she's in the middle of labor," Dr. Clarkson pointed out not unkindly.

Sybil glared at him, and to her hearts content so did her husband.

The dull ache in her back grew, and she knew a pain was coming. She tried not to tense but the muscles in her body seemed to ignore her brain and she couldn't help the tight grip on Tom's had.

He focused on her completely, trying to encourage her, telling her it would be alright.

What did he know? The pain brought tears to her eyes, making it hard to breath.

"Oh do be quiet," she snapped at him. Heat washed over her body, and she felt on fire. She worked to throw off the heavy blanket someone had insisted she be draped with. "Just be useful for once in your life and get this thing off of me."

He scrambled to get the blanket off of her, then stood staring at her, insecure, eyebrows raised.

The wave of pain and heat left her body, leaving her tired. She realized what she had said to Tom and looked at him, her own surprise evident on her face.

The room of occupants merely watched as the young couple stared at each other.

"Tom," she started, her voice apologetic.

She heard a strangled sound, a snort perhaps, then a scoffing noise. Her husband was trying not to laugh, and doing a poor job of it.

She couldn't help it, her own lips spread, and soon she too was trying to hide a giggle. They looked at each other and lost it.

Dropping the heavy blanket, Tom managed to force out, "Anything else I can do for you m'lady?"

"Oh shut up you," she scolded, knowing her outburst was forgiven, and reached for his hand.

He smiled at her, settling back down next to her, taking her hand, knowing there was nothing to forgive and that his dear sweet wife would probably have a great deal more to shout at him in the coming hours.

Mary turned to her mother and whispered, "I don't suppose you want to be the one to tell her laughter doesn't seem appropriate right now?"

Cora just shook her head.

* * *

Part 5: The Realization

Dr. Clarkson had given up long ago and retired to one of the spare rooms with parting instructions to "wake him when he's needed." Mary and Edith were both in their respective beds, falling asleep easier than either had anticipated considering the excitement still rampant in their minds.

The grand house was quiet and dark, both below and upstairs.

The lights were low in the Bransons' room, only Cousin Isobel and Cora remained, both dozing in overstuffed chairs.

Things had slowed a bit, the rapid progression of Sybil's labor had leveled off some, confirming Dr. Clarkson's declaration that a first-time baby can take time.

Only two remained awake.

Sybil lay on her side, her one hand pressed between her face and pillow, the other still holding tight to her husband's. He sat on the floor, a bit uncomfortably, but quite content as he rested his chin on the bed, their faces close.

Two pairs of blue eyes were glassy, sleepy, but alert.

He tucked her matted hair behind her ear as she focused all her energy on surviving through the wave of pain.

Seeing her relax again, he resumed their whispered conversation, "I don't think she'd mind so much, knowing it was for our safety."

Sybil nodded. "I just don't want her to feel left out."

Their current circumstances being what they are meant another separation between Tom and his family, and now between the baby and his Irish grandmother, but there was little they could do about it. The ache in Tom's chest grew as they discussed his mother missing the baby's christening.

"I don't suppose there's anything we can do about it," Tom admitted sadly.

They were quiet after that, just watching each other.

"You can sleep," she said.

He smiled. "You're beautiful."

She gave him a derisive smirk. "Swollen, tired, sweaty?"

"Yes," he answered simply, sincerely, then, "You're brave."

Sybil snorted and he felt her breath on his face. "What are you doing?"

Tom shifted his leg, trying to get the tingling to stop, before saying, "Not really sure. Just feel like saying these things."

He settled his cheek against the bed, gazing at her.

"I really think you should sleep some," she teased, "you're beginning to get silly."

"It's hard to think of life before you," he confessed, ignoring her comment.

"Yes," she agreed, and they grew quiet as she played with one of the buttons on his shirt. Her eyes dropped from his as she carefully offered, "I know you're not happy to be here, that this isn't what you wanted—"

"Shh," he interrupted, "Right here, in this moment, is all I've ever truly wanted. Being with you, our child ready to come, is something I only thought would be possible in a dream. We'll worry about the rest later."

She still wouldn't look at him, her sensitivity to their current situation overwhelming her in this moment as the birth of her child loomed. And he felt guilt over his recent morose behavior.

"Can you believe it?" he asked brightly.

Her eyes shot up. "What?"

"Tomorrow we're going to be parents."

She raised an amused eyebrow. "You're just realizing this now?"

He shook his head. "Just remembering how important it is."

She understood, leaning forward to kiss his cheek.

* * *

Part 6: The Decision

"She's not progressing as she should," Dr. Clarkson whispered harshly to the small group. "She should be further along by now."

Isobel nodded her head knowingly, Cora's face maintained its cool porcelain smoothness though her hands were worrying her necklace, and Tom stood perfectly still, his arms folded across his chest.

Across the room his wife sat up in bed, a white-knuckle grip on the blanket, her hair a tangled sweaty mess, her cheeks pale and eyes dark. Dawn was beginning to creep out of its hiding place, seeking to cast a grey shadow throughout the room.

"What are you suggesting?" Isobel's bold voice petitioned.

Dr. Clarkson raised an eyebrow before answering, "I think it may be best to put her under, see if we can get the baby out and if not then perform surgery."

At this declaration Tom's gaze, which had been on his suffering wife, snapped to the older man. "She doesn't want you to put her to sleep," he insisted.

"I understand that Mr. Branson, but she may not have a choice," Dr. Clarkson insisted wearily. "The longer we wait to help her, the more tired she's going to grow, and the less likely it is we can save her or the baby. She's already beginning to lose strength."

His point seemed to be emphasized as Sybil released a pathetic whimper. Her eyes closing tightly as another pain squeezed through her.

"It may be for the best Tom," Isobel offered kindly, "She could go to sleep and wake up and it'll all be over."

Tom couldn't help the chill that ran through him at her words. He turned to the only person in the group who'd yet to comment.

Cora blinked at him, and for the first time he felt a moment of complete connection. This wasn't his mother-in-law, the Countess of Grantham, this was Sybil's mother, and she was worried about her baby.

"What about it?" he asked her quietly.

She pressed her lips together, so like her daughter. "I don't want to lose my daughter," she answered honestly, perhaps the most honest thing she'd ever said to him.

Tom nodded, three pairs of eyes on him, waiting, as her husband, to make a decision. He said nothing as he walked back over to the bed. He gingerly sat down, facing her, taking one of her hands in his, refusing to wince as her transferred grip dug into his skin.

"Tell me," she grounded out.

"They're worried 'cause the baby's not comin' fast enough," he answered.

Sybil nodded.

"They think it would be best to put you to sleep."

Her eyes grew wide, panicked. "I don't want that."

"I know," he said. He stared at her, lost, unsure, terrified, then quietly admitted, "I don't know what to do Sybil."

His eyes dropped to their joined hands.

Her voice, so tired, so desperate reached his ears. "Please, Tom, I'm scared," the crack in her voice brought his eyes to hers. "I need you to listen to me," she pleaded.

Scenario after scenario played out in his mind, all ending with his heart broken. How could he know what to do? The thought of choosing wrong choked him, punched at him, taunted him. Yet he could feel her pulse against his hand, her warmth pressing into his skin. It was a smart, tenacious, strong woman he'd married; a woman who had fought for him.

Taking a deep breath he looked to her, a sad smile on his face. "I am. I'm listening. I'm scared too, but…I promise to fight for you. I'll fight for you."

Sybil's shoulders sagged with relief.

"But you gotta fight for me Sybil, you gotta fight for our baby," he insisted, his free hand reaching out to ghost against her belly. "I'm going to be here with you every step, and if I see you're not fighting I'll let them do what needs to be done to save you."

He stared at her, challenging her to argue.

An agreement was reached.

"No," he said loudly, ensuring the group could hear. "We'll do as Sybil wants."

"Mr. Branson I must insist—"

"I appreciate your help Dr. Clarkson," Tom interrupted sharply as he stood. "But right now I'm going to respect my wife's wishes."

The older man gave a heavy sigh, and the women shook their heads.

Having removed his dinner jacket long ago, his bow tie draped around his neck, Tom began unbuttoning his cuffs and rolling up his sleeves.

"Right," he declared, "We're going to do this the Branson way." He turned to Sybil. "Tell me what you need me to do love."

For a moment she faltered, being overwhelmed, but finally answered, "I want to stand up. I want to get out of this bed for a bit."

Ignoring the scoffs of disbelief and warnings, Tom nodded, helping her stand, allowing her to lean heavily against him.

Sybil nearly cried out with relief as the pain in her back seemed to cut in half.

"Now what?" he pressed, conscious of the glares boring into his back.

Sybil sagged against him, her face against his shoulder and breath on his neck. "I'm not sure," she mumbled, "but this feels like a pretty good start so far."

* * *

Part 7: The Arrival

"That's it, bear down," Dr. Clarkson commanded, the white hair near his temple dark and damp.

The beginning heat of the day had left everyone uncomfortable and sweaty; none more so than Sybil as huge drops rolled down her neck, the muscles chorded and tight. Behind her, Tom could feel the front of his shirt sticking to his skin as the heat from her body pressed tightly against him.

She had been pushing for nearly an hour, her labor finally beginning to progress as she had been allowed to move around the room. The fear that she would exhaust herself had proven inaccurate as the freedom to move from the bed seemed to reenergize her. When finally she could no longer stand, she had insisted that she be allowed to kneel on the bed.

When the time came to push she had decided to sit, allowing Tom to hold her up, and help keep her knees back. Neither Mary nor Edith were allowed in the room, due to the impropriety, and Cora held her daughter's hand, her eyes firmly affixed on her daughter's face.

Any objections to Tom witnessing such an immodest act was promptly silences by his response, "Forgive me for bein' crass, but we all know how the baby got in there, I don't think it's a stretch for me to be here when it's time for it to come out."

Sybil loved her working class husband.

"That's it love, you're almost there," he praised in her ear, though he was fairly certain she hadn't heard a word anyone was saying for the last several minutes. All of her energy was focused inward as she pushed their child into the world.

He had grown accustom to the sounds she made, at first surprised by the harsh cries, but now glad it seemed to help push her forward.

"The head is right here Lady Sybil," Dr. Clarkson assured.

When she gave no indication she had heard him, Tom repeated the sentiment directly into her ear. Her head whipped around to him, surprised.

He gave her an encouraging nod.

"When the next pain comes push hard," Isobel instructed, gaining Sybil's attention. "You will probably feel some burning, but try and push through it."

Cora wiped the sweat from her child's face. "You're doing wonderful darling, not long now."

He felt her tense, her grip tightened, and soon she was pushing hard, her face red.

Tom couldn't help the victorious cry that escaped his lips as the head emerged, his excitement doubling, the exhaustion of the last few hours incomparable to the feelings of anticipation now running rampant.

"You're doing it!" he proclaimed, "You beautiful amazing girl, you're doing it!"

Seeming to gather all her strength, she gave a violent, forceful push, expelling the baby from her is a gush of blood and other fluids. She immediately collapsed against him, weeping from the relief, tears mixing with the drops of sweat.

Tom was overwhelmed, surprised to find his own cheeks now wet.

Isobel had placed a small blanket on Sybil, prompting Dr. Clarkson to place the baby on Sybil's stomach.

A piercing cry echoed around the room and Sybil reached out with shaking arms, gathering the child to her as she sobbed. "My baby."

* * *

Part 8: The Mother

She could hear them arguing, or rather she could sense it. Their voices were low rumbles, their words indistinguishable, yet whenever her father and her husband spoke it could confidently be assumed they were disagreeing over something.

But at this moment she just didn't care.

She was mesmerized.

Her blue eyes stared at her son. Her son.

His own deep blue eyes gazed at her, so alert, so focused, on her. He was quiet now, snuggled tightly in her arms, clean and warm and cocooned in his blanket—a gift from Tom's mother. As he stared up at her, Sybil felt like she had just met someone she'd known her whole life.

Her finger gently stroked his soft, round cheek. His new skin, pink and warm. His nose, a miniature of her own, and tiny smooth lips were perhaps the most beautiful of any person Sybil had ever met and she couldn't resist the impulse to place a small kiss against each of them, again.

Her hair must have tickled his face because as she pulled back his brow furrowed some. Sybil's heart overflowed with joy and an airy laugh escaped her lips. In that moment, her son looked just like her husband.

Mindlessly she noted the murmuring around her quieted, but she gave no heed. How could she? How could she spend a single moment not looking at this adorable face in her arms?

She smoothed his wrinkled forehead with her fingertip, overwhelmed by the desire to forever spare him pain. She felt the weariness in her body transform, not to satisfaction, that was something she recognized. Her time as a nurse during the war had taught her to know what it felt like to work tirelessly, but contentedly. No, this was something more, and it was difficult to understand. It was almost as if the exhaustion in her body, the sheer pain it took to bring him into the world was now simply apart of who she is. There was no question that she'd do it again, that she'd suffer any ills, any heartache, any pain, for the tiny life that lay nestled in her arms.

She felt a small ache take residence in her heart for her mother, and the brother born sleeping.

She thought she understood love. She had been shocked by the power of the love between her and Tom. She knew she was one of the blessed few in her station that came from parents who loved each other, so she was no stranger to the feeling of affection between a husband and wife, but she had been unprepared for the depth she felt for him, and for the impact his love had on her. Somehow they had absorbed each other and she had assumed that was as strong as love could get. How wrong she had been.

Her son was more than love.

He blinked sleepily at her, refusing to give in as he continued to look at her.

She instinctually began to rock slowly, side to side. Calming, reassuring, promising with movement.

"Shh, my love, close your tired eyes. Mama is here."

* * *

Part 9: The Father

"Thank you so much for your help Dr. Clarkson," Lord Grantham said, offering his hand to the physician.

Dr. Clarkson accepted the proffered hand with his own, and nodded. "All in a days work, though I think Mr. Branson deserves a bit of the credit."

Lord Grantham raised an eyebrow but chose not to comment.

Tom made no reply.

"Right," Dr. Clarkson announced, ending the awkward silence, "Lady Sybil and Master Branson are doing well so I'll be off. I'll come back this evening to check on them." He took a breath, then quietly asked, "Before I go, to whom am I sending the bill?"

"To me."

"I'll take care of it"

The new father and grandfather spoke over each other.

Tom stiffened. "I can pay for my own child," he grounded out.

"Don't be ridiculous," Lord Grantham scoffed, "What would you pay him with? Your money in Ireland's been seized; all your assets are frozen."

Tom felt his neck and ears go red, unable to hide his embarrassment as exhaustion had set in, leaving him open and vulnerable. "I—"

His response was cut off as the sound of Sybil's laughter floated around the room. The sound was so light, so genuine as to catch the attention of all in the room. Tom looked to her and wondered if everyone else saw what he did.

There she sat, her tiny new baby in her arms, completely and utterly enraptured by him. The look of peace on her face such a contrast to the last few hours of torment as to make her smile appear, well he almost hated to say it, but angelic. It was as if her whole body shined, lighting the room, and he couldn't understand how he could love her more than he did before, yet here he was..

He couldn't take his eyes off her.

"Tom."

From somewhere a voice called to him, intruding.

"Tom." This time he recognized the deep voice of his father-in-law, though it seemed to have lost a bit of the accusatory tone that often accompanied it when he spoke.

Glancing to the older man, Tom was surprised to see the tenderness on his face. He didn't have to follow the man's line of sight to know what had softened his features.

Sparing his son-in-law a look, Lord Grantham offered quietly, "I'm sorry Tom, I didn't mean to sound so condescending. Of course what I meant was I would appreciate it if you would allow me to help your family."

Tom hesitated, his thoughts a mess in his head.

"I may not agree with Sybil's choice, but I can't argue that she is the happiest I've ever seen her," Lord Grantham declared, giving no apology, yet offering a small branch. "As one father to another, I would simply like to contribute."

Tom was too tired to argue. It wasn't for him; it was for her and their child.

"I'm a father," he whispered reverently.

A hand on his shoulder, a rare sign of support, as Lord Grantham offered, "Yes, and your whole life has changed."

Without hesitation Tom crossed the room. The rest of the world didn't matter right now, not the Crawleys, not Ireland, not his family, not their situation, nothing mattered but his wife and son and he needed to be with them.

He was a father now.

* * *

Part 10: The Family

The sun was now high in the sky, though the curtains were drawn to keep the room dark.

It was quiet now

.

He had been told that a room had been made up for him so he could rest and she could rest, but of course he ignored it.

The suggestion had been made for a nursemaid, but of course she ignored it.

The bassinet had been made up and left for the baby to rest in, but of course they ignored it.

Instead they lay sleeping together, all three cocooned in their own, private world.

It hadn't been what they imagined; not with Dublin and their tiny flat miles away, not with her family milling about, always watching. It was not what they had lain awake, buried under blankets and whispered excitedly about that cold December morning when she whispered to him that he was going to be a father.

_Neither wanted to move, too warm to brave the chill as they pressed tightly together, legs entangled. The day would have to start soon, the fire would have to be rebuilt, but right now it was too tempting to just stay where they were._

"_Tom," she called softly in the grey morning light, her voice breaking from disuse._

"_Hmm?" he responded lazily, not bothering to really open his eyes._

"_I have something to tell you."_

_One eye cracked open._

"_I'm going to have a baby."_

_The other eye flew open. He blinked at her owlishly, seemingly dazed._

_She laughed at him. She had seen that look before, late one night, in a garage far away, a lifetime ago._

"_Truly?" he breathed, and the awe in his voice caught in her throat._

_She nodded happily._

_As the sun rose, they talked and laughed and dreamed. Change was coming; their family was growing._

Change did come, not in the ways they had hoped and their relationship, their marriage, their little family, had to learn how to navigate these new waters. There had been pain, heartache, some harsh words, some tears, some hurt pride, but it was proof that their love was worth fighting for.

The greatest proof lay swaddled between them.

A tiny mewling sound woke him, pulling him from the exhausted sleep he had collapsed into. His eyes felt cottony and he blinked to clear the blurriness. It took a moment to register the squirming, to understand what had awoken him, but when the smallest fingers Tom had ever seen waved passed his nose he smiled.

"Aye, you broke free your wrap huh?" Tom whispered and with a low chuckle added, "That's my boy."

His own large hand caught his son's and lovingly caressed the fragile skin. The baby quieted at the contact, and Tom's heart swelled with pride. "That's right, I'm your Da."

He felt his wife shift next to him. Her eyes still bore the dark smudges underneath, her skin still pale, her face tense. He could tell she was on the verge of waking, which always delighted him when he was able to watch. She was unlike any other person he'd ever seen, most people would wake slowly, dreamily, but not his wife. When she woke her eyes opened wide, and with a deep breath she and a stretch, she was ready to attack the day.

So it was no surprise when she opened her eyes and immediately croaked, "Is he alright?"

"He's wiggled free of the blanket," Tom explained, delighted by the sensation of his son's fingers gripping his.

Sybil reached out to stroke the joined hands of her husband and son. They lay there in silence, smiling, just watching the new life they had created together.

Soon though their touch wasn't enough to satiate the newborn's hungry belly and he began to whimper.

"Reckon he's hungry?" Tom asked.

"I assume so," Sybil answered, moving to sit up. She couldn't help the groan that escaped her lips. "My whole body hurts."

Tom frowned at her sympathetically. He moved to wedge himself between her and the headboard, easing her back to rest against him as she scooped up their son who was beginning to become quiet upset and vocal.

It was awkward as she maneuvered the baby to her breast, both still so new to the process, but soon his cries were replaced with suckling.

"He needs a name," Sybil pointed out eagerly, her eyes working to memorize the tiny features.

Tom rested his chin on her shoulder as he too wanted to watch their son, to learn about him, and know him.

"Thank you," he whispered into her ear.

She turned to look at him, her eye shining. A shy smile spread on her lips before they pressed against his.

Change was here and their family was whole.

**Thanks for reading!**

**Can't wait to meet baby Branson! I appreciate everyone who liked or reblogged or messaged me on Tumblr. Hope you all enjoyed a little glimpse into my imagines for the growing Branson family.**

P.S. This does not count as my episode 4 one-shot. Still working on that one, but I hope to post it as well before episode 5 airs. Wish me luck!


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